Page 21 of A Court of Masks and Roses (Royal Scout #1)

KALI

M y fingers dig into the bark, my chest squeezing, crushing my ribs, as I watch the betrayal laid open before me and listen to the distant movements of patrols.

No, no, this is good , a dark part of my mind whispers.

The knowledge that the captain of Firehorn’s personal guard is bedding the daughter of his enemy is a powerful weapon.

One that might one day keep Leaf safe. My jaw tightens.

On the ground below, Trace’s body suddenly stiffens, his head rising like a hawk’s. “Quiet,” he orders, pushing the princess behind him. His hand goes to his sword.

My heart stops.

But Trace steps away from where I’m hiding.

I focus my gaze on the ground beyond and listen, trying to discern which of the many unfamiliar sounds has unsettled the guard. Only the footsteps of the patrol I heard earlier disturb the silence.

Or maybe not a patrol. Trace’s lethal stance gives credence to my thought. That, and the arrow that embeds itself in a tree inches from Raza’s head.

Stars.

Raza opens her mouth to scream as four men pounce on her and Trace.

My throwing knives are in my hand in an instant.

Trace cuts down one of the attackers as my knife lodges itself in the throat of another.

In the moonlight, the blood gurgling down his shirt looks like oil.

The third and fourth men have long daggers and circle Trace like enraged coyotes.

“Run,” Trace orders Raza as he lunges at the remaining assailants.

The Everett princess scrambles back, tripping over the bloodied corpse of my victim. She screams and the attackers’ heads snap toward her.

My fingers close around my second blade, but I don’t have a clear line for a throw. Cursing, I slide to the ground—my dress floating to my ears in the process—and sprint the dozen paces to the melee. I grab Raza around the waist. “Move,” I hiss to the princess.

“Trace,” she breathes.

“Trace can take care of himself,” I snap, half supporting, half dragging the shaking Raza away from the fight. Depositing the girl behind a large tree trunk surrounded by leafy foliage, I leave her to the relative safety of the concealment while I check for more visitors.

“Who are they?” Raza asks between sobs.

“Do I look like I collected calling cards? Stay down.”

I circle back to the initial ambush point in time to see Trace take down his final foe with a vicious cut across the man’s chest. My eyes race over the fallen bodies, trying to put words to something that feels wrong. “No bow,” I breathe. “Where is the bloody bow? ”

Trace freezes, his eyes burning into me in the darkness. “Lady Lianna?”

“Yes, pay attention,” I snap at him. “Someone shot an arrow but none of the bodies have a bow.”

Trace brings his bloodied sword to ready guard, sweeping me protectively behind him with his arm. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your hide, apparently.” I step away to snatch a sword from one of the fallen attackers, wrinkling my nose as I wipe the blade on my satin dress.

Part of me is as bewildered by Lady Lianna’s appearance in the middle of this mess as Trace is.

I try to imagine myself as Kal, only to find the air flowing too freely beneath my skirts and the weight of Lianna’s wig distracting.

I shove both identities aside and return to stand back to back with Trace, feeling his motions and complementing them with my own.

Stars, the man moves like water. He’s been holding back in Kal’s training sessions. A lot.

“What... No. Later.” Trace draws a breath before steadying his voice to a stoic briskness. “Are you injured?”

“I’d call it shocked.” I cut my gaze between tree branches. “I hadn’t taken you for the princess type.”

A growl vibrates through his body. “That is not what I meant.”

“Down!” It’s all I have time to shout before the nocked arrow I spotted in the foliage explodes from its string. I roll to the side, coming up on one knee and nearly tripping on the hem of Lianna’s dress as I launch a dagger into the archer’s nest.

He must little appreciate the gesture, because his next arrow cuts across my neck. Gritting my teeth, I loose my final dagger into the leaves and the archer topples to the ground.

Trace strides forward and presses the tip of his blade against the man’s throat. “Who are you? ”

“The voice of salvation,” the man hisses. I take the five steps toward them and rip the shirt from his shoulder. He grunts. “What, not even a drink first?”

Using his own shirt, I wipe the man’s blood off his chest until I can see his skin. And the flame tattooed over his heart. “Viva Sylthia,” I tell Trace. Stars take me .

A distant thumping of boots has me reaching for my sword, but Trace bellows our location into the night. “Guard patrol,” he says to me quickly. “Where is the princess?”

“In a bush.” Twisting, I stride back to where I left Raza and pull her from the foliage. Keeping the giant tree between Trace and us, I lean my face close to hers. “Who knew you planned to lead your lover here today?”

“What?” Raza’s eyes are wide.

Grabbing the front of her dress, I shake her like a doll. “You broke the glass on purpose, to leave dinner alone with Trace.” I swallow bubbling anger. “Who knew of your plan?”

“No one! Let go of me.” She digs her nails into the webbing of my hand.

I hold on. “Your lover has a prisoner. I’d recommend not rushing into Trace’s arms unless you want said prisoner selling that detail to anyone who will listen.

Understand?” She scowls at me but nods, comprehension blooming in her eyes.

When I release her, she walks toward Trace at a dignified pace, stopping well short of the guard.

“Are you all right, Princess?” he asks formally, though his eyes scan her for hints of injury. “A patrol will be here any moment to escort you where you wish.”

“You summoned?” Luca’s voice breaks the tree line, another four guards trailing behind him. Striding onto our makeshift battlefield, Luca takes in the carnage and whistles. “Stars, Trace. Have you no other way to impress the ladies but to take down five men by yourself? What happened? ”

“Take the prisoner, Luca,” Trace orders. “And have one of your men see to Princess Raza. Lady Lianna—”

“I’ll have someone escort me home,” I say, backing away from the mess with my palms raised in the air while I scan the other guards’ faces to pick out the least attentive man.

Lianna’s eye makeup runs down my face in streams of black kohl, and the wig is close to toppling from my head altogether.

At least my desire for a hood and shadow will be a simple sell. “Perhaps—”

“I’ll escort you, my lady.” Trace stalks up to me before I can finish my thought.

My heart pounds against my chest, my soul stinging. “I would prefer someone else. Better yet,” I lower my voice, “I’ll escort myself.” I turn my back to Trace and stride with purpose deeper into the shaded woods, ignoring his call to wait. It’s all I can do not to bolt at a full run.

I’m ten paces away from the assault point, just out of sight of Luca and his patrol, when familiar footsteps crunch the earth behind me. A hand reaches for my shoulder.

I yank away violently.

Instead of flesh, Trace’s fingers close around the cape of my ruined gown, and the sudden ripping sound makes us both jump.

My feet stutter and I stumble over a branch, the air nipping my exposed back as I fall to my knees.

I’m up with the next heartbeat, my stomach in knots as I twist about to find Trace holding a fistful of black satin, his moonlit face frozen in shock.

I swallow, summoning indignation. “How dare you, sir?”

Trace stares at the cloth in his hand. At my face. At my shoulders, as though he can see right through me to the skin of my back and the telltale switch marks he left on Kal not long enough ago. His intelligent face shifts with calculation and memory, his body stiffening.

I wait, every muscle in my body tensed.

“Who are you?” Trace whispers, his eyes wide. “Who the bloody hells are you?”